


Hope You're Not Hoping

by unbecomings



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, Fake Dating, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-18 20:05:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20318722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbecomings/pseuds/unbecomings
Summary: Emily is convinced that Lindsey doesn't like her like that. Rose is convinced that Emily is wrong. Obviously, the only logical way to find out is pretend to be dating and see if Lindsey gets jealous.





	Hope You're Not Hoping

**Author's Note:**

> In my defense, they are one hundred percent stupid enough to do this.

“I think I have a crush on Lindsey,” Emily blurts.

Rose doesn’t even blink. She scoops some guacamole up on a tortilla chip and shoves it in her mouth without even reacting. When she’s finished she raises her eyebrows.

“You think?” she asks.

It’s oddly comforting that Rose isn’t surprised at all. It takes a lot of the pressure off of Emily, who closes her eyes and rests her head back against the top of Rose’s couch. Andi and Mal have gone to bed and Lindsey is with a friend somewhere in DC. It’s as safe a space as it’s ever going to be. Emily is only comforted until she really thinks about it, and then she sits bolt upright again, almost upending the bowl of tortilla chips balanced on the couch between them. Rose glares at her and reaches for it with one hand.

“Wait,” Emily says, “do you think she knows?”

“No,” Rose says, “please, she’s clueless. She doesn’t even know she’s gay.”

Emily wrinkles her nose.

“She definitely knows she’s gay,” she says, “every time her and that guy broke up, or like, before the last time, she’d make out with some girl at a bar. One time she brought a girl back.”

“No,” Rose says, “you didn’t hear me. I said she doesn’t know she’s _gay_. She knows she likes girls. That’s different. Anyway my point is that she has no idea that you’re into her.”

“Thank God,” Emily says, but there’s a part of her that’s disappointed. She’s never going to mention it to Lindsey and there’s a long, long list of reasons for that, but for a while she was able to live in a universe where Lindsey gets it anyway and makes a move. The chances were slim, but they were chances. Now there’s nothing, which is both a relief and a little upsetting.

“You should tell her,” Rose says. “Or I can tell her.”

“What?” Emily yelps, and then remembers Andi and Mal are asleep and covers her own mouth. She leans in to whisper and Rose makes a face at her.

“_What?_” she repeats, “no way. No fucking way. Why, so that my life becomes an awkward living hell? I don’t want to live in a fucking webseries, okay? I’ll get over it.”

Rose, unbothered, leans back and shoves her feet into Emily’s lap, balancing the bowl of chips on her knees.

“You haven’t gotten over it so far,” Rose says, “and anyway, I think she’d go for it. I bet she makes out with girls at bars just to see what you’ll do.”

“Be normal and supportive like any other friend,” Emily says.

“Boring,” Rose says, “jealousy is hot.”

Emily takes a second to think about that. She doesn’t ever consider herself to be hot and she can’t imagine _Lindsey_ thinking it would be hot for her to be jealous, either. She tries to imagine getting outwardly pissy at Lindsey hooking up with someone at a bar and completely fails. She would just look like a brat. But Lindsey being jealous...that would be hot. Really hot.

“So what you’re saying,” Emily says deliberately, “is that you and I should pretend to be dating, to make her jealous.”

Rose is speechless for a second. All she can do is blink at Emily with her mouth open. It doesn’t happen often that Emily’s stupidity is surprising to Rose at this point in their friendship, but when it does happen, it’s very dramatic.

“What I meant was you should tell her you hate seeing her with other girls,” Rose says slowly, like she’s speaking to a five year old, “how the fuck did you hear that and think ‘elaborate fake dating scheme’?”

Emily knows she needs to play this right. She’s defended Rose for years so she knows how to anticipate what she’s going to do on the pitch, and this is a similar game. The only thing Rose hates more than losing is being wrong—and they’re sort of the same thing. 

“You’re right,” Emily says, dropping her head back against the top of the couch again and staring at the ceiling, “it wouldn’t work anyway.”

Rose narrows her eyes. She’s smart enough to know exactly what Emily’s doing here, but she’s also stubborn enough to play into it anyway, if Emily knows her as well as she thinks she does. 

“You know what?” Rose says, “Fine. I’ll do it. Just because I know I’m right.”

-

They tell them before the game. They’re all sitting together in the same living room, and Sonny’s heart is in her throat the entire time because she’s sure she’s going to blow it. If someone calls them on it she’s not sure she can actually sell it. Next to her on the couch, Rose takes her hand and holds it, and nobody even notices. They all do it all the time.

Rose leaves it like that until Mal does notice.

“You guys,” Rose says, “I wanna say something.”

“Go Thorns,” Lindsey says, and Andi smacks her in the face with a throw pillow.

“Not in my house,” she says, and Rose repeats herself plaintively.

“You _guys_,” she says, and they all fall quiet. Emily thinks she might pass out. Rose, ever the stickler for detail, brushes the back of Emily’s hand with her thumb, like it’s supposed to be comforting. Emily contorts her face into what she hopes is close to a smile.

“Sonny,” Rose says, turning to look at her, “babe, do you want to--?”

Rose is actually smiling for real, because she is _eating this up_. She is _loving_ how much Emily wants to die, and they both know it. Emily’s started to sweat and hopes that she sweats all over Rose’s palm, because it’s what she deserves. She smiles back at rose in a way that she hopes expresses her murderous intent and then turns back to the group, who are all staring now.

“It’s not a huge deal,” she says, “we’re uh, dating. It’s pretty new, but we felt like we should tell you guys for obvious reasons. So, yep.”

It’s the least convincing thing she’s ever said. Rose squeezes her hand and Emily resists the urge to kiss her. She also resists the urge to stare directly at Lindsey. Andi looks like the human equivalent of the buffering symbol on an iPhone. Mal crosses her arms. Lindsey...is looking at them. Emily doesn’t look at her long enough to decide what her expression means.

“I don’t believe you,” Mal says.

“That’s not fair,” Lindsey says, “it was probably really hard to tell us.”

“They’re joking,” Mal says, and Emily almost lets go of Rose’s hand, until Rose digs her fingernails in.

“No we’re not,” Rose says, “why would that even be funny?”

“Good point,” Andi says, “Rose is usually funnier than that.”

“And I’m not?” Emily asks, offended. She’s trying to avoid Lindsey _and_ Mal now, because she thinks Mal can probably see right through her.

“If you’re really dating,” Mal says, “prove it.”

“We don’t owe you shit,” Rose says.

“Hey,” Lindsey says, but nobody is listening to her--nobody but Emily, who glances nervously in Lindsey’s direction.

“If you’re really dating,” Mal continues, “then kiss right now.”

“That’s performative,” Rose protests, “you’re being a shitty ally.”

“They don’t have to kiss,” Lindsey says, “I believe them. Andi believes them. Right, Andi?”

Andi hesitates. In that moment Emily can only see one way out of this situation alive. She turns her head, reaches for Rose’s face, and drags Rose into a kiss. For a second she’s terrified Rose is going to push her away and ruin everything, but Rose commits to the kiss and kisses her back. Emily peeks out of one eye and sees that Rose is flipping the room off, which still isn’t convincing; when she closes her eyes again she opens her mouth into the kiss and Rose pinches her leg where nobody can see it, forcing them apart.

It’s dead silent.

“Well,” Mal says, “wow.”

“Happy now?” Rose says, and Mal shrugs. 

“I really am,” Lindsey says, “like, really, you guys, I’m really happy for you.”

Emily wants to say that they’re not getting married. She wants to say that it’s not a big deal. She wants to say anything that might telegram to Lindsey that she has a shot if she wants a shot, but if she does that she’ll ruin it, and her leg still hurts where Rose pinched her, so instead she smiles and brings Rose’s hand to her mouth and kisses it. Mal looks distantly, fondly grossed out.

“Thank you,” Emily says, and the sincere eye contact that follows makes the whole mess worth it.

-

“I literally hate you,” Rose says, when they pull into Starbucks.

“I’ll buy the coffee,” Emily says, “I’ll buy your coffee every day until we fake break up.”

“There’s not going to be a fake breakup,” Rose says, “there’s going to be a real breakup.”

“You can kill me,” Emily says, “if it doesn’t work. You can totally kill me if it’ll make you feel better.”

“God,” Rose says, leading the way into the store, “it’s going to work, you idiot, did you even see her face after you stuck your tongue down my throat? She’s so upset about it.”

“I didn’t stick my tongue down your throat,” Emily says. She’s ignoring the second part. She had not gotten the vibe that Lindsey was upset about them dating at all, and she sort of feels like Rose is saying that so that they can be done with this whole thing sooner. They take their place in line and Rose gives her a look.

“No offense, Sonny,” Rose says, “but if you kiss her like that, she’s going to dump you, and then I really will kill you.”

“I’m a good kisser,” Emily insists loudly. The mom with her twelve year old turns over her shoulder to give them a look, and Emily blinks impassively back at her. People are so weird in DC compared to Portland. She has no idea how Rose deals with it here. It reminds Emily of Georgia. Rose ignores her and places the group’s order. They’re supposed to bring coffee back. Mal had wriggled her eyebrows so hard at them that Emily joked they were going to fall off her face.

Back in the car, Rose buckles her seatbelt, turns down the music, and turns to Emily before she even takes the car out of park.

“She really does hate it,” Rose says.

“I don’t see it,” Emily admits, “she was so nice about it.”

“She was _too_ nice about it,” Rose says, pointing, “exactly. When have you ever known Lindsey to be nice?”

Emily hesitates. She reaches for the volume to turn the music back up and Rose smacks her hand.

“Lindsey is nice,” Emily says eventually, because they really need to get back to their friends.

“Oh my God,” Rose says, “you’re disgusting.”

“All I said is that she’s nice!” Emily protests, “not always, I didn’t say always. But it’s not like she’s not nice. It makes sense that she would be nice to us about dating because she’s a good friend.”

“She would have made at least five jokes before we even unstuck our mouths,” Rose says, “and you know it.”

She does have a point. Emily doesn’t say so. She drinks her coffee and refuses to respond until Rose sighs and pulls out of the parking lot.

-

DC eats them alive. It’s embarrassing. Especially in front of their crowd, which doesn’t feel like Portland—nothing does—but feels more invested than anywhere else on the East Coast they’ve played this season, including Orlando. Rose scores the third and final goal, and Emily isn’t sure how she should react after the game. 

They hadn’t scored a single goal. That’s frustrating enough without having to worry about the mess she made of her personal life. Lindsey slings am arm around her shoulders as they walk off the pitch, and Emily feels miserable. 

“At least your girl scored,” Lindsey says, “that makes it a little better, right?”

Lindsey is usually not this chipper after losing. Emily can tell that it’s fake. 

“No,” she says, and Lindsey’s choreographed smile falls. Emily hates herself a little extra for that. Lindsey is _trying_. 

“We had a bet,” Emily lies.

Lindsey definitely goes somewhere sexual with that sentence. Emily was not intending to take Lindsey on that journey and certainly not ready to take it herself. They both end up making the same horrible awkward grimace at each other until Rose breaks them apart. She’s smiling like a maniac, and Emily kind of wants to kick her in the shins. 

“Nice game babe,” Rose says. Lindsey lets go of Emily, and Rose loops one of her arms around Emily’s shoulders. She smacks a kiss onto Emily’s cheek and Emily is afraid it comes off more like her mom embarrassing her in front of her friends than like the girl she likes kissing her cheek in a public place. Either way she blushes though, and Lindsey’s expression changes, but she looks away to where Mal is calling her before Emily can read it. 

“Nice goal _babe_,” Emily mumbles. 

“What was the bet?” Lindsey asks, just as Mal approaches. It’s the first not-nice thing Lindsey has said since the whole thing started, and Emily feels distinctly betrayed even though it wasn’t mean. It’s a normal teasing thing Lindsey would do regardless of how she feels about this situation. It doesn’t help Emily check the pulse on her at all. 

“You guys had a bet?” Mal asks gleefully, and the look Rose gives Emily then makes her want to punt her own head into the goal. 

“You don’t wanna know,” Rose says, curling her hand around the back of Emily’s neck, “trust me.”

-

Emily sits on Rose’s bed for two hours after the game. 

“We can pull an Easy A,” Rose says, “and make fake sex noises.”

“No,” Emily says.

“Oh,” Rose says, “so you want them to think we have quiet sex.”

“I don’t want them to think about us having sex,” Emily says miserably.

“You’re the one who came up with the bet,” Rose points out. When she can tell that Emily is embarrassed she leans into it, rolling over onto her stomach to hide her cackle in her pillow. Only Andi is home; Mal and Lindsey are together and Emily wishes she was with them instead. 

“They’re probably talking about it right now,” Rose says, “I’m sure Lindsey is being really nice about us banging too.”

“Rose,” Emily groans. She hates everything but she especially hates how flustered she gets thinking about Lindsey thinking about her in a sexual context. Even if that sexual context is, in this situation, Rose—who Emily loves but isn’t even remotely attracted to. 

“Seriously,” Rose says, “how long are we doing this for? We need a game plan.”

“I’ll leave in an hour,” Emily says, “just ignore me, I’ll just sit here quietly.”

“You’ve never done that in your life,” Rose points out, and Emily frowns. “And that’s not what I meant,” Rose says, “I meant, how long are we going to pretend to date for? I need a finish line here.”

Emily thinks about it. She flops onto her back on Rose’s bed and covers her face with her hands and tries to recreate the look on Lindsey’s face after the game, when Rose had taken her place with an arm around Emily’s shoulders. She tries to imagine sitting down and telling Lindsey that she likes her.

“Give me a month,” she says.

A month to figure out how to pull an Ashton Kutcher and turn this into a funny reality TV episode. A month to figure out how to tell Lindsey how she feels. A month is a _long_ time, all things considered, but it’s not like she and Rose will see each other all that much in that span. Emily will see Lindsey a lot more.

“Deal,” Rose says, and when Emily opens her eyes, Rose has offered her hand to shake.

-

On the flight back to Portland, Lindsey quizzes her. 

“Sorry,” she says after the first question, “I’m just so curious, but you don’t like, owe me any answers or anything.”

“No,” Emily says, “you’re my best friend, I’ll answer anything.” Idiot. 

“I’m kind of surprised I didn’t know already,” Lindsey admits. There’s a tiny edge to her voice, jealousy or hurt, and Rose is right- it’s intoxicating. 

“It was so hard not to tell you,” Emily says, “but I was scared I would jinx it.” Every word of that is true but not about Rose. Still, it feels good to not be completely lying. Lindsey’s expression softens to the point that the tug in Emily’s chest is almost unbearable. 

“I totally get that,” Lindsey says. And then, to ruin it, “I have so been there.”

But not about Emily. 

Emily fiddles with her seatback TV, looking for a stupid Delta game to play. She likes the Angry Birds knockoff. 

“When did you know you liked her?” Lindsey asks. 

“Oh,” Emily says, “well, I mean, it’s hard to say. We were friends first, so. It just felt like one day I woke up and I had always liked her.”

Emily can remember the exact moment she knew she liked Lindsey. It was after the end of their first season in Portland together. They were at the grocery store and Emily reached for the protein powder pancake mix she wanted on the top shelf. She had to get up on her toes, but usually she could reach just fine. This time the box was pushed far enough back that she could barely brush it with her fingertips. Lindsey reached over her and plucked the box off the shelf. Emily had turned around expecting a joke, but Lindsey just held the box out for her, smiling. Emily noticed Lindsey’s dimples and _then_, standing in the middle of the aisle clutching her pancake mix, she noticed her crush. 

“That’s kind of the dream, huh?” Lindsey asks, and Emily almost fesses up right there. Instead, she swallows and manages a smile. 

“It’s really nice,” she says lamely. And then: “Hey, they have Pitch Perfect, wanna watch?”

So that’s how Anna Kendrick saves Emily’s life. She knows it’s a dramatic thought even though it’s supposed to be a joke, but she can’t help it. She has the window seat and she feels trapped between Lindsey’s long legs and the rest of the plane. Lindsey falls asleep halfway through and looks unbearably cozy in her leggings and sweatshirt with the sleeves pulled down over her hands. 

Lindsey doesn’t bring Rose up again on the plane, or in the car, or back at home. 

-

The next weekend is a home game. They bounce back with a big win against Chicago and Emily is, finally, satisfied with how she played. It’s not easy to sit on Sam Kerr for 90 minutes, but only losing her three times and only letting her score once would have felt like a win no matter the score. They win 2-1 though, and one of the goals belongs to Lindsey, who’s chipper and loose during the press conference like she only is after a good game at home. Emily isn’t allowed in to watch but she listens from the hallway, letting her hair dry in frizzy streaks while she waits for Lindsey to drive them home.

An hour and a half later, Emily is sitting cross-legged on the couch with a bag of carrots and an open container of hummus. Lindsey reappears in a crop top and skinny jeans and sneakers that Emily knows had to have come from Tobin. 

“Whoa,” Emily says, “out on the town.”

She wasn't invited. Lindsey turns pink when she gets caught and reaches up to fiddle with her necklace—the one that matches the one _Emily_ is wearing. 

“You have any plans?” Lindsey asks, and Emily is compelled to lie so that it seems like they both have things going on. 

“Gonna Facetime Rose in a bit,” she says, “then go to Tobin’s.”

“Oh,” Lindsey says, “cute, very fun. Um, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“For sure,” Emily says, “after hot yoga if Chris drags me, or for breakfast if I manage to bail.”

Emily does not Facetime Rose. She loses herself in shitty TV and an endless Instagram scroll until she moves to her room, exhausted, and she never texts Tobin to see if she can come over. She’ll just tell Lindsey in the morning that she decided to come back early or something. She doesn’t particularly want to see Tobin or anyone else, because she’s afraid the whole mess will be too obvious to the next person that looks at her. She just needs a reset. She knows that in the morning, with some eggs and toast and coffee, she’ll feel like she has a handle on things again. 

When the apartment door opens it’s almost 12:30 in the morning. Emily doesn’t think anything of it until she hears a giggle that definitely is not Lindsey’s. She goes to her door and opens it a crack, half-asleep and paranoid that someone’s somehow broken in, but Lindsey _is_ there. Emily left the light on by the door for her, so she can see Lindsey, with another girl, a girl even taller than her with a thick, dark braid and her hand heavy on Lindsey’s lower back. They’re laughing under their breaths before Lindsey pulls the girl in to kiss her, and Emily slinks away from the door without fully closing it, afraid to make any noise at all. Her stomach is in knots when she gets back into bed and tries to go back to sleep. 

It’s impossible. She may not know what they’re doing next door, but she _knows_, basically, what they’re doing. 

And God, she wants to be that girl. She wants to skate her hands along Lindsey’s stomach, wants to taste her chapstick and catch Lindsey’s lips with her own. She wants it so badly that it makes her chest ache, and no amount of squeezing her eyes shut and trying to breathe regularly is going to slow her heart rate thinking about that. There’s no way she’ll fall asleep now. 

That’s what she’s thinking when she hears, muffled by the wall between them, the sound of Lindsey’s moan.

It hits her like a punch to the gut. She rolls out of bed and doesn’t think about what she’s doing when she slips into shorts and a sports bra, a long sleeved t shirt and her sneakers. She just goes, praying she’ll make it out the door without hearing anything else, knowing the sound will haunt her. It takes almost a half a mile for her to stop replaying Lindsey’s throaty voice in her head on a loop. 

She runs for almost forty minutes. She sits outside for another fifteen until her phone is getting close to dying, and then she takes her chances, trying to visualize wiping her mind clean like a window, trying to think of exactly nothing. It’s really late. She should shower. 

Inside, the apartment is quiet. She pours herself a glass of water, and Lindsey’s door creaks open. Emily, sweating, makes eye contact with Lindsey’s date over her glass while the girl ducks out of the apartment, smiling, without a trace of embarrassment in her entire expression. Emily goes back for more water. This time with ice. 

The sound brings Lindsey into the kitchen, in a pair of soccer shorts and a t-shirt. 

“Those are mine,” Emily points out, gesturing with the hand that’s not holding her glass. She’s doing a good job at feeling nothing until she looks at Lindsey’s face, and has to wonder if Lindsey’s blush is from getting caught wearing her clothes or from the girl or something else. They’re a pair of Emily’s UVA shorts. She doesn’t often wear them; they’re whites and she hates that. But they have her number on them. 

“Sorry,” Lindsey says “I thought you were at Tobin’s.”

“Would it have mattered?” Emily asks, “you’re an adult, do what you want.”

Lindsey blinks.

“It’s your place,” she says, “technically.” 

Emily wants to yell at her that it’s always been theirs, since the second Lindsey stepped inside, but she doesn’t. Instead she shrugs, crushing an ice cube between her molars.

“You live here,” Emily says, “you have needs, you’re entitled to handle that stuff however you want.”

Lindsey breaks eye contact, twisting her hands in her t-shirt. Emily’s shorts are too short on her, so that Emily has to stand there and look at Lindsey’s long, tan, toned legs in _her_ shorts and try not to lose it. She’s distantly aware of the fact that she’s totally failing. 

“Um,” Lindsey says, “okay.”

Emily softens immediately at Lindsey’s tone. It’s not Lindsey’s fault that Emily is tied up in stupid knots over her, and now she’s sad, and worse she probably feels like getting laid was wrong, which Emily hates for her, regardless of how badly Emily wanted to be the one in the room. She grabs another glass and fills it with water and hands it to Lindsey, who still won’t look at her. Emily goes to stand next to her, bumping Lindsey’s hip with her own. 

“She was cute,” Emily says, and Lindsey turns pink. 

“Not really my type,” Lindsey says, “normally, but um, she—picked me out, I guess, and it’s been a minute since I didn’t have to be the one doing the picking.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Emily says, “anyone would be nuts not to pick you.”

Lindsey drinks her water, but her expression is unreadable all of a sudden. Emily stands there with a glass full of ice cubes and thinks about how it’s the middle of the night and she still needs to shower but she doesn’t want this moment to end. 

“Did Rose pick you?” Lindsey asks, and Emily blanks completely. She can feel Rose’s disapproval when she hesitates, bumping her leg against Lindsey’s again. 

“You know it’s not that serious, right?” Emily says, “it’s not like she’s like, the love of my life.”

“You don’t know that,” Lindsey says, “I hope she is.”

“Gross,” Emily laughs, and Lindsey smiles but doesn’t laugh along. 

“I’ll give a speech at your wedding,” she says, and Emily dumps her ice cubes into the sink. 

“Go to bed,” Emily says, “weirdo,” and disappears into the bathroom. 

-

Emily wakes up at ten thirty to forty text messages and Lindsey knocking on her door. 

“I’m gonna go get breakfast,” Lindsey says, “um, brunch I guess by the time I get there, but if you wanna come.”

“You hungover?” Emily asks, rolling out of bed and pulling her shirt over her head. Lindsey is quiet. 

“Aw,” Emily says, shrugging into a sports bra and a different shirt, stepping into some sweatpants and her slides, “poor baby. I’ll get you some avo toast.”

She doesn’t touch her phone. Lindsey doesn’t say a word on the walk over, and somehow Emily feels like it’s her fault. When she finally checks her phone at the table, she must go white as a sheet, because her expression is what makes Lindsey finally speak. 

“What?” she asks, “what is it? Is everyone okay? Did something happen?”

The fact of her genuine concern for Emily and, presumably, Emily’s family is in stark contrast to the actual text thread, which is just Mal and Rose threatening to kill her. It makes Emily feel too sick to eat. 

“Um, yeah,” she says, “everything’s cool, no worries.”

Everything is not cool. 

-

Rose Lavelle has changed the name of the group to “Rose and Emily are not dating”

**Mal Pugh:** omfg  
**Mal Pugh**: FUCK YOU GUYS i knew i was right!!  
**Rose Lavelle**: honestly surprised em managed to convince anyone  
**Rose Lavelle**: she kisses like a very aggressive 8th grade boy  
**Mal Pugh**: lol gross  
**Mal Pugh**: but explain something to me wtf is this for like why  
**Rose Lavelle**: sonnett you have anything to say for yourself 

Emily had been asleep. Across from her, Lindsey is quietly eating her avocado toast. She looks pensive and Emily wishes she could turn her phone off and focus only on Lindsey, but she knows better. 

**Rose Lavelle**: guess not. anyway it’s because emily’s in love with lindsey. 

Emily is _not_ in love with Lindsey. Emily has a crush on Lindsey. They’re distinct things that she wishes Rose would leave distinct. 

**Mal Pugh:** so she made out with you? is this a gay thing?  
**Rose Lavelle:** don’t be stupid. it’s just an emily thing. i thought it was dumb too but she convinced me.  
**Rose Lavelle:** the idea was to make linds jealous

It sounds so, so awful and stupid now with Lindsey sitting across from her, so quiet. 

**Mal Pugh:** omg okay  
**Mal Pugh:** well thats terrible  
**Mal Pugh:** BUT it worked

“Are you gonna eat?” Lindsey asks, and it’s laced with too much concern to really be a chirp. 

“Yeah, sorry,” Emily says, “just a sec.”

**Emily Sonnett:** you’re full of shit  
**Rose Lavelle:** oh NOWWW she shows up  
**Mal Pugh:** i am not!  
**Rose Lavelle:** it’s like FOUR PM  
**Mal Pugh:** she hates that you guys are dating  
**Mal Pugh:** like she hates it so much  
**Mal Pugh:** but she tries to be extra nice about it because she feels so bad that she hates it  
**Rose Lavelle:** i fucking told you she was being too nice  
**Emily Sonnett:** stop  
**Mal Pugh:** but she hates it because she totally wishes it was her  
**Emily Sonnett:** she literally doesn’t she brought a girl home last night

She locks her phone and takes a few bites of her breakfast so that Lindsey will stop worrying about her, but neither of them says a word. 

**Rose Lavelle:** are you gonna expand on that or nah  
**Emily Sonnett:** have you guys seen Wonder Woman  
**Rose Lavelle:** excuse me  
**Mal Pugh:** ya  
**Emily Sonnett:** this girl looked like that  
**Emily Sonnett:** aka her type is taller than her  
**Emily Sonnett:** tall dark and handsome  
**Rose Lavelle:** shut up  
**Mal Pugh:** she 100p went and fucked that girl bc she looks nothing like you  
**Emily Sonnett:** from what i (unfortunately) heard she was not doing the fucking  
**Rose Lavelle:** i’m going to fucking kill you  
**Mal Pugh:** she’s really sad Son i’m serious  
**Mal Pugh:** she really likes you  
**Mal Pugh:** she’s gonna be so upset

Lindsey is already upset. Now, with only a little urging, Emily can see it. She can see it in the slope of Lindsey’s shoulders, the bags under her eyes, the listless way she picks at the fruit on her plate. And it’s entirely Emily’s fault. 

**Rose Lavelle:** you need to fess up  
**Emily Sonnett:** i know  
**Rose Lavelle:** i’m dumping you  
**Mal Pugh:** lol

-

Back at home, Lindsey curls up on the couch looking beyond-hangover miserable, and Emily knows she can’t put it off. She sits on the other edge of the couch and plays with her necklace until she has to sit on her hands again. 

She clears her throat and Lindsey looks up from her phone. Lindsey looks so comfortable and warm that all Emily wants is to crawl on top of her. 

“I have to tell you something,” Emily says. Lindsey must be able to tell she’s serious, because she puts her phone down, but she also shrinks into the corner of the couch. 

“Rose and I...aren’t dating,” Emily says, staring at her knees so that she won’t have to see the expression on Lindsey’s face, “it was a joke. And we let it go on way too long and I’m sorry, it got super fucked up.”

Lindsey is quiet for so long that Emily has to look up. When she does, Lindsey isn’t looking at her. 

“I don’t understand,” she says softly, and suddenly Emily is on the verge of tears. “Why would that be funny?”

“It was you that I liked,” Emily says hoarsely, “but I didn’t think it was mutual and Rose did and I guess we thought if we pretended to date and you got jealous that would prove it.”

“Why would you make it a joke,” Lindsey says, and Emily can hear and see how close Lindsey is to crying and it kills her. It’s phrased like a question but it’s not one. 

“I don’t understand,” Lindsey repeats, “I’m not a joke, you guys think I’m a joke.”

“No,” Emily says, lurching forward, reaching out to touch Lindsey’s calf, “it’s not—I made Rose do it. And neither of us think you’re a joke.”

Lindsey doesn’t believe her. Emily doesn’t blame her but she needs to find a way to get through. Already it feels like whatever was between them has splintered, like Emily has to be careful not to touch it. She wants to cup her hands around it and fit all the pieces back into place. 

“I’m sorry,” Emily says, but Lindsey moves away from her, pulling her knees up to her chest. “Lindsey, I’m sorry, I fucked up and I know I fucked up, tell me how to fix it.”

“I’m not a joke,” Lindsey repeats, more to herself. Then she lifts her head and finally makes eye contact with Emily again, her voice cracking. 

“How I felt about you was never a joke,” she says, “you could have just said something. I wanted you to.”

Emily doesn’t miss the use of past tense. 

“How long?” she asks, her voice shaking, and Lindsey looks away again and Emily can feel everything slipping through her hands. 

“You don’t get to ask me that,” Lindsey says quietly. 

“I want to fix it,” Emily says, “I want to start over and do it right.”

“I need you to go, I think,” Lindsey says. Emily’s entire world stops spinning and Lindsey still won’t even look at her. And Emily deserves it. 

“Okay,” Emily says. 

“Just for a few days,” Lindsey says, “I need the space, I need to think about it.”

“I’ll go to Tobin’s,” Emily says, and Lindsey says nothing. 

-

She does actually go to Tobin’s this time. Tobin opens the door in sweats and a t-shirt and Christen appears behind her in something flows that Emily doesn’t have the word for. 

“I fucked up,” she says, “can I stay here?”

“That depends,” Tobin says, “did you kill someone?”

“Let her in,” Christen says, and Tobin steps back, letting Emily through. 

They don’t ask and she doesn’t try to explain herself. Rose and Mal don’t text her either, and Emily knows that means Lindsey got to them first, and Emily doesn’t try to talk to any of them. 

-

Lindsey calls her that night. It’s after Tobin and Christen have gone to bed. More accurately, it’s after Tobin falls asleep on the couch and Christen gently wakes her up and takes her to bed. Emily’s already sensitive, getting swept up by them in a way she never has before. She’s thinking about how she wants that, wants to take someone’s hand and wake up with someone in _their_ bed, and then Lindsey calls her. 

“Hey,” Emily says. 

“Hey,” Lindsey says, and she sounds better, but Emily is terrified, even before Lindsey continues. 

“You really hurt my feelings,” Lindsey says calmly. Emily, shaking, wraps Tobin’s ratty UNC blanket around her shoulders. If her college teammates could see her now—

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles. 

“I’m not done,” Lindsey says, “I know you’re sorry. And that does help. But I also called Rose.”

“It’s not Rose’s fault,” Emily insists. 

“I know,” Lindsey repeats, “but she told me you’ve had a crush on me for like, a while.”

Emily had been worried that Rose was dead, but this is worse. Rose has turned on her to save herself. 

“Yeah,” she admits, because there’s nothing else for her to say. 

“Do you know how dumb that is?” Lindsey says, “that we lived together and we both had a crush on each other and this is what happened?”

“It is dumb,” Emily agrees, “I am dumb.”

But she’s still processing that Lindsey had a crush on her. Maybe she still does, but it seems like a lot of luck would have to go her way for that to be true. All this time she could have just asked Lindsey out. Somehow that still seems like an insurmountable task. 

“I know you didn’t mean to make me feel like shit,” Lindsey says, “and it _is_ kind of funny.”

Emily doesn’t think it’s funny at all, but she doesn’t say so. If Lindsey can find some humor in this mess, Emily isn’t about to stop her. 

“I really thought you wouldn’t care at all,” Emily says, “I was trying to prove to Rose that I was right, that you weren’t into me. So I didn’t think you’d be upset or I would never have done it.”

“You’re an idiot,” Lindsey says, but Emily doesn’t miss the fondness in her voice. It makes her heart thump against her breastbone and she’s smiling in spite of herself, feeling that little flicker of hope that she’d buried for months. 

“We’ve establishes this,” Emily says, “but Rose is right, I’m also really into you, and that doesn’t excuse it or make up for it but it’s not a joke to me and it never has been.”

She closes her eyes and the first thing that her brain conjures up is Tobin’s sleepy face when Christen has shaken her gently awake, the contentment in her expression. Emily can vividly remember Lindsey falling asleep on the couch and her own instinct to tig Lindsey into her bedroom or to flop down on top of her and join her. What she had done was to drop a throw pillow on Lindsey’s face and run. 

Lindsey is quiet and Emily knows she’s thinking. When she speaks again, Emily holds her breath. 

“I really like you,” Lindsey says, “I like you so much even though you’re an idiot sometimes.”

“Thanks,” Emily says, but it comes out halfway to delirious, giddy laughter. 

“Can you come home please,” Lindsey says, “this is your apartment and it feels weird without you.”

-

Lindsey is waiting for her when she gets to the door.

It’s past eleven and Emily’s a little cold in her shorts and tank top, and mostly just hoping Lindsey won’t make her stand outside and beg to come in. She’s not really sure what to expect, but she’s so mentally exhausted that she’s past the point of being nervous about it. At least, that’s what she thinks until she gets to the door.

She knocks. On her own door. The second she does it she feels like an idiot. She has a key _in her hand_. Lindsey opens the door, though, immediately, and that’s when Emily knows she was waiting, and the look on Lindsey’s face is so overwhelming that all Emily can do is blink. She’s clearly been crying. Her eyes are a little red. But the fondness in her expression is totally unmistakeable, and she reaches for Emily immediately, dragging her into a hug.

Hesitantly, Emily wraps her arms around Lindsey’s waist. Lindsey buries her face in Emily’s neck, and Emily is hyper-aware of everything about it, of how good Lindsey smells and the sound of the TV in the background and the way that Lindsey’s lips feel against her neck and how badly Emily wishes Lindsey was kissing her there, in that spot.

She kicks the door closed and Lindsey lets go of her. Emily immediately misses the hug, not least of which because she has to make eye contact with Lindsey again, and she still feels so guilty that it’s making her stomach twist.

“You’re getting my coffee for the rest of the month,” Lindsey says.

“Okay,” Emily says.

“And you’re driving us to practice,” Lindsey says, “in my car, but I get to DJ.”

“Yep,” Emily says.

“Also,” Lindsey says, “you have to call Rose and tell her that she was right. Like, in those words, ‘Rose you were right,’ you have to say that.”

That’s easily the worst one. Emily can imagine Rose’s gloating face and she _knows_ it’s going to be recorded. Still, she doesn’t hesitate.

“I’ll do it right now,” she says, “I’ll do it every day for a week.”

“Just once,” Lindsey says, “I don’t want her to get an ego about it, she was in on it too.”

Emily doesn’t say anything. She drops her backpack and pushes it aside with her foot, into the corner. Lindsey crosses her arms.

“Last thing,” Lindsey says, and Emily swallows.

“Anything,” she croaks.

Lindsey is grinning ear to ear when she says, “Come here and kiss me, idiot.”


End file.
